


Jurgen Leitner Do Not Interact

by absoluteMastard



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Character Death, Comedy, Death by burning, Gen, Insects, Mostly Canon Compliant, Rats, a very nasty corruption leitner about the black plague, graphic disease imagery, last chapter got sad my bad :(, pure visceral hatred for old rich men with libraries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteMastard/pseuds/absoluteMastard
Summary: “Jurgen Leitner?"Gerry snapped incredulously, “Stupid idiot motherfuckingJurgen Leitner?"He kicked the next chair out of his path and marched forward—“God damn fool book collecting, dust eating,rat old bastard, shithead idiot avatar of the whore—”
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gerard Keay & Jurgen Leitner
Comments: 32
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this incredible work of art.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqPK3habeMk)

“You don’t know what you’re messing with.” Gerry called out from a safe distance. The man he was addressing was stood up on a table in the food court of the mall that was now vacated. Chairs were strewn about after the chaos from earlier, when an army of rats had started to pour into the area and caused the shoppers to flee in a panic. The man with the book clutched in his trembling hands followed the rats in after, mumbling things that couldn’t be understood past the gurgling of blood in his mouth.

He was stood up on the table, book now open in his hands, which seemed to be blackening with gangrene as he mumbled out whatever cursed words were written on the page. He wore no shirt, almost as if he was proudly displaying the pallor of his clammy skin, and the swollen bumps where his lymph nodes were under siege by the pathogen colonizing his body.

Gerry was wholly unprepared for dealing with the infectious filth in front of him, and found himself sorely wishing he had at least a scarf to cover his face. The rats feasting at dropped food on the ground seemed docile, but the swarms of fleas on them were not, and at least Gerry was happy that no skin was exposed on his legs for them to latch onto him.

“Put down the book, it’s killing you.” He yelled out after being ignored the first time. “Whatever you’re hoping to gain, it’s not worth it!”

The man seemed to address him this time, looking to Gerry and laughing, crimson splattering from his mouth as he did. If you squinted and looked past the blood, sunken in skin, and the sheen of sweat coating him, his expression almost looked dreamy; blissful, even.

“Who could have known,” He said deliriously, swaying as if a breeze was pushing him, “how incomplete we are on our own?”

Gerry carefully stepped over a toppled chair, inching closer to the man. He was getting frustrated, but until he got close enough to actually intervene, he had to try his best to convince the bloke to stop reading. “All that disease is gonna do is hollow you out and discard you, then move on to the next host. It’s lying to you.”

Fleas were pouring from the book like a trickle of sand, and Gerry suppressed a gag. The man still seemed lost in his own world. “This book has shown me the beautiful truth of unity.”

“No, it’s shown you the _bubonic fucking plague!"_ Gerry barked. He was twelve feet away now, covering his mouth and nose with part of his jacket.

“What other grand treasures did this library hold?” The man said, gaze fixed on the book. He sighed contentedly. “A generous soul, this Jurgen Leitner must have been, to bring this gift to the world.”

Gerry froze on the spot, as if the cogs turning in his brain jammed as he registered the name the man uttered. He felt his face heat up as all the chaos and stress of the day instantly boiled over.

“ _Jurgen Leitner?"_ Gerry snapped incredulously, “Stupid idiot motherfucking _Jurgen Leitner?"_ He shoved the next chair out of his path and marched forward—“God damn fool book collecting, dust eating, _rat old bastard_ , shithead idiot avatar of the whore—”

The man with the book finally seemed to snap out of his daze, looking to Gerry with a mix of confusion and concern. He took a step backward, nearly losing his balance on the wobbling table. Gerry was too busy seething as he advanced forward with much less concern than a moment ago. As if noticing this, the infectious insects began to move in his direction. Thankfully, that was something Gerry was equipped to handle, and he whipped out a lighter and a can of body spray and incinerated the swarm in front of him. He barely waited for the flames to die before continuing on, kicking the table with a heavy-booted foot and toppling it and the man over with a loud clang.

“Biggest clown in the circus—laughed out of town, cowboy mother fucking—” He ranted as he shoved the table out of the way and stomped on the book before the man could try and retrieve it, “ _JURGEN. LEITNER."_

Gerry exhaled sharply before lighting up the man, only stopping when the flames engulfed him, then backed up to do the same to the book. His shoulders were fully tense as he hyperventilated, his rage not yet subsiding as he watched them burn.

“Do NOT fucking talk to me about Jurgen Leitner, I hate him so much!” He spat, kicking another chair and letting it slide across the floor.

He paced in silence for another few minutes until he was certain that the man and the book were no more, then fled through an emergency exit, hoping to not be seen. With luck, extermination services could take care of the shopping center’s new rat infestation for him. He needed to get out and have a goddamn cigarette. Or five.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the library of Yogurt Light Nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some liberties and slight edits to the quotes were taken to make this make a bit more sense. Enjoy!

“Ah. Gerard. I was wondering when you’d come by.” Gertrude said, tone disinterested. Gerry made an effort of keeping his footfalls quiet as he approached the open door of her office, but she managed to pick up on his presence each time. He’d even gone through the effort of avoiding the floorboards that creaked. She didn’t look up at him, apparently, she was very engrossed in highlighting sections of a newspaper, perhaps digging for some new lead. As Gerry stepped into the room and plopped down heavily in a chair across from her, the old woman wrinkled her nose, glancing to him with a raised eyebrow.

“You smell awful. Like smoke, and bad cologne—did anyone teach you how to appropriately use scents?” She asked.

“Needed a flamethrower. Is that an appropriate use?” He retorted, something of an edge in his voice.

“I suppose it depends who you ask.” She said, “What happened today?”

“Didn’t mean to stumble upon it, I was in the area by chance. Some poor bloke fell for the Corruption’s affection and started waxing poetic about the black plague. He got it all from a…” Gerry trailed off in his explanation, giving an irritated sigh, “...a Leitner.”

Gertrude put her highlighter down, nodding slightly. “I take it this was a rather unpleasant volume?”

Gerry just threw his arms up in the air. “They’re ALL unpleasant volumes. WHY does Jurgen Leitner have so many fucked up books? Why did he decide to fuck around and find out—just set them loose to make my entire life miserable. Is he _dead?_ Is he a _bastard?_ ” He spouted, his earlier irritation back with a vengeance.

Gertrude looked taken aback—a rare sight to behold. “I understand your distaste, but is that language necessary?”

“Yes.” He huffed, “Man has such a visceral effect on me—not even in the room, never seen this man’s face and I just KNOW he has the world’s shittiest beard.”

She looked like she was about to make a counterpoint, but backed out at the last moment, watching Gerry’s sudden rage carefully. “You’re very outspoken today.” She noted dryly.

He got the point, and took a few slow breaths to try and cool off. “Let’s change the subject. What’re you doing there?” He asked, peering at the newspaper below her. On the headline, he glimpsed the name ‘Fairchild.’

“A little bit of reconnaissance. Simon Fairchild has been extra philanthropic of late, and is flaunting that fact to the press. Best to keep an eye on whatever he’s planning.” She explained, handing the papers over to him.

“Hm. He’s that really eccentric one, right? Unpredictable?” He asked, and Gertrude nodded back to him. “If you need any help, I’m in. I can be your backup in case a geriatric fistfight breaks out.”

“You of all people should know I don’t get into fistfights. I only fight dirty.” She said, proud of her statement on the matter. Gerry just snickered at her. “I might be making a trip out next Monday, having you there would be useful. I can let you know the plan for sure once I have my confirmations.”

“Sure, sure.” He nodded along, leaning back in his chair. “Speaking of, actually—I know you’re adamant on keeping me off of the Institute’s payroll, but I’m not exactly swimming in cash, and holding a job is not really possible if I’m doing this on the side. Dear old Mum didn’t exactly leave a fortune for me to feed myself on.”

Getrude gave a sigh. “I suppose your services can be counted towards archive expenses. Would a personal cheque suffice?”

“If it’s easier for you, online transfer works too.” Gerry said, “Paypal.com/IFuckingHateJurgenLeitner.”

“One more mention and I’ll keep you as an unpaid intern.” Gertrude warned, “Remind me not to bring his name up around you.”

“Sorry, I’ll stop.” He said, smirking this time. “I don’t know why I’m so angry today—he just collects books. The man earlier vaguely mentioned what's supposed to be his Library and I lost it.”

“All well and good, as long as you don’t get yourself recklessly killed in the process.” She chided.

“Yeah, yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuning in to a nearby conversation at the worst time.

It was dark, but Jurgen Leitner had no issue tracing his way through the tunnels. After having lived in them for over two years, and perfecting his use of _The Seven Lamps of Architecture_ to change their layout, he hardly had to worry about using a flashlight when simply walking through. He had important news to relay to Gertrude, and knowing her, she should still be in her office at this hour. 

Naturally, the both of them knew better than to use the archive’s trap-door recklessly, or else risk raising Elias Bouchard’s suspicion. However, over time Jurgen had realized that a small vent in a corner of her office was actually connected to the tunnels. He couldn’t see to the other end, but voices carried through very well. It was a useful tool for approaching the Institute and being able to check if the coast was clear. If Jurgen would tap three times on the metal grate, Gertrude would say a chosen phrase to signal if he was safe to emerge or not.

As he approached the spot, he heard some voices echoing down. He recognized Gertrude, but not the other voice, their words too quiet to hear. Perhaps some researcher or librarian from the other sectors of the building. He leaned closer to it, hoping to listen in and figure out how long the conversation was going to take. 

“If he’s still alive, I’m going to so deeply wish he wasn’t.” The other brooding voice said before sighing loud enough for Jurgen to hear. “Crusty old man.”

“Again with this?” Gertrude said, sounding annoyed. “You really need to find something else to fixate your anger on.”

“Listen, if I wanted to go to heaven and God said Jurgen Leitner’s waiting inside, I would _piss_ on God’s feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down.” The other one replied, and Jurgen froze in place after hearing his own name said with such vitriol. “Where the _fuck_ is Jurgen Leitner?”

The man swallowed nervously before backing up from the vent, and turning right back around. Once he knew his footsteps wouldn’t echo too much, he sped up to get out of the Institute’s vicinity as quick as possible. Talking to Gertrude could wait for now, he decided.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of MAG111

“…To be honest, when she was going through _this_ stuff, that was about the time I thought I had found Leitner, so I wasn’t much in the mood to listen.”

The new Archivist—Jon—perked up as he heard that name. “Leitner?” He asked.

Gerard nodded. “Yeah. Gertrude reckoned he was alive somewhere. Said she thought she’d found him. I tracked him down, but it… well, it wasn’t him.” Memories flashed back to that night. Marching toward the old man with fire in his veins, too angry to care that they way he had his fist curled was likely to mess up his hand as he beat him down in that soggy London alley.

Jon looked unsure of how to respond, but after a moment’s thought, he shook his head. “No, that was him, alright.” He said, sounding rather sure of himself despite how clueless he’d been about everything else this whole conversation.

Gerry raised his eyebrow. It was no secret that Jurgen Leitner and his library were a sore subject for him, but the way that this new Archivist called him on what was essentially a lie made him suspicious. “The Eye tell you that?” He questioned.

“The man told me himself, actually.” He explained. _Oh._ “Told me he was nearly beaten to death by an angry goth, once. I figured that must have been you.”

Gerry paused, chewing on that information. Of course he knew it was him at the time; there was just something very underwhelming about confronting someone who contributed so much misery to your life, only to see how pathetic and simply human they were compared to the real monsters out in the world. The Jurgen Leitner he met wasn’t the one he envisioned in his head with such contempt for so many years.

Still though, if he was already on the subject, why not. Gerry shrugged. “You know what? Yeah, I did. I punched Leitner, and his sad, frail, old man twig bones simply flaked apart under my epic huge meat fist.” He declared, holding up his clenched fist to emphasize. Jon looked surprised, taken aback by his sudden change in energy. His eyes comically wavered back and forth between Gerry’s hand and his face.

“I do think that’s an exaggeration…” Jon commented.

“Yeah, obviously.” He said. He sighed, the action bringing him no relief. “Thought that would be a little more cathartic. Any mention of the man used to set me off. How’d you meet him?”

“He was in the tunnels under the Institute. He worked with Gertrude in secret.” Jon explained. _’Oh goddamnit.’_ Gerry thought. Should have known that Gertrude had something hidden down there, the way she refused to ever let Gerry explore them. He noticed the look of guilt on the other man’s face as he continued, “I only had one conversation with him before he was killed.”

“Rough.” He said, “For you, not him. Do you remember when exactly he died?”

“The date? It was… February 16th. This year.” He answered, confused. “Why?”

Gerry gave a weak laugh. “I used to joke around that if I found out the date of his death, I’d make it a reminder on my phone. Once a year I’d see it and do anything but pay respects to the man who had so many fucked-up-if-true books.” He said. His smile faded. “Things changed, I guess.”

“…Are you alright?” Jon asked softly.

Talking could only distract Gerry from the pain for so long. He hoped that his old passionate rage would bring some ease to him, but it didn’t manage to. One last outburst for old time’s sake was fun, but there was only one thing left that could help, now. At least this Jon was a better audience than Gertrude. “I think… I think I’m ready to go. I’m done. Hide my page, and when you’re out of here, burn it.” Gerry said. “Please.”

Jon nodded. “I will. Thank you, Gerard.”

“…Gerry.” He said.

“What?”

“Gerard was what my mum called me.” He gave a short chuckle. “I always wanted my friends to call me Gerry.”

Jon’s expression softened at that, and he nodded again. “Thank you, Gerry. Uh, I dismiss you.”


End file.
